


Forgive Me This Sin

by ohmcgee



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood, Cutting, Dissociation, Gen, Self-Harm, Self-Mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:26:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2212263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for lj comm coment_fic.<br/>The prompt was http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/jaybrannan/drowning.html</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgive Me This Sin

_You can’t -_

_can’t reach the top --_

_can’t break the ice ---_

_can’t breath, can’t stop_

“Bucky, oh god Bucky please stop. Oh god. Nat! Sam! Help!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Where did he get it? I thought you --”

“I told you to keep them all away f--”

“I DID,” Steve shouts and Sam swears the walls tremble. He stands his ground even though what he really feels like doing is hiding behind Natasha. He’s never seen Steve like this before. There’s a hole in the wall where his fist had just been. Nat, ever the brave one, reaches out and touches Steve’s arm.

“We know you did. He was the Winter Soldier for a very long time, Steve. We were kidding ourselves if we thought we could keep anything from him.”

Steve sighs and it’s like all of his bones collapse as he drops down into a chair and buries his face into his hands. “God. I _can’t_. Nat, I...“

She nods. “It’s okay. Stay here with Sam, okay? I’ll go.”

Steve looks up at her, worry pulling at all of his normally soft features. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Nat tells him; she’s not, actually, but she cares about Steve too much to let him see Bucky like that again. She can handle this one job. She can do this for Steve.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You’re almost there, can almost feel your own skin again, can look down and see color painting the blade, dripping off of the tip into the carpet, bleeding into the fibers.

“Bucky?”

_It’s not your name. It is your name, but it’s not who you are. You’re a soldier, a killer, a weapon, a mangled body patched together with spare parts. Not a who - a_ what.

“Hey, you with me?”

_You look up at the girl with the fiery hair. She wants something from you; you know that. No. She wants to take something from you. You hear (not feel) the metal in your arm clicking into place, your metal fist clenching into a ball. Your mouth makes the shape of ‘no.’_

“No? No what?”

_She looks scared. She’s scared of the weapon -- no, not the blade clenched between your blood-tacky fingers, of you. You’re the weapon; she was sent to disarm you. You don’t understand what that means yet._

“You want to keep the knife? That’s fine, you can do that. Can I ask one thing though?”

_Your eyes move up to meet hers; you do this on your own, with your own will. You can breathe again, feel the oxygen filling up your lungs again, feel the air prickling your skin. Everything’s coming back together, you are coming back together, slowly, piece by scarred and broken piece._ You nod.

“Great. Thank you. Can you -- you don’t have to give it to me -- but could you just stop cutting yourself?”

_You look down at your arm, find the source of all the blood that’s caked between your fingers. You have the letters B - A - D carved into your forearm. You don’t know how long you’ve been tracing the letters over and over, but your blade is red, not silver and your shirt is reddish brown, parts of it stiff from where the blood has already dried. You put the knife down (you, not someone else; your arm, your thoughts, your decision) and suddenly everything comes back to you in full technicolor and surround sound._

You look down at your arm in horror. “Don’t --” you stutter and look around, panicked, covering it with your hand, half to hide it from anyone seeing, half to apply pressure and make sure you don’t bleed out, “Don’t let Steve see.”

“Don’t worry,” Natasha says soothingly, giving you a safe smile as she squats down next to you. “I’m going to get the Doc though, think you’ll need stitches.”

You don’t like the idea of doctors yet, but you aren’t sure you’re ready to bleed out in the bathroom floor of Steve’s apartment yet either. So you nod, bite your lip because fuck, now that you’re aware and present in the moment instead of that floaty, muted headspace you were in earlier, this shit actually stings.

“Good. You still want to keep the knife or would you mind letting me have it?”

You pick it up by the blade, hand it to Natasha butt first and look up to meet her forgiving eyes. “Tell Steve to hide them better next time.”

Nat reaches down to brush the hair from your eyes. “I’ll be back in a few.”


End file.
